


change of heart

by Slice_of_Apple



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angry Eren Yeager, Angry Jean Kirstein, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Fluff fest, Friends to Enemies, Idiots in Love, M/M, Romance, Sexy Jean Kirstein, Slow Burn, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slice_of_Apple/pseuds/Slice_of_Apple
Summary: Before Jean hated Eren, he had a crush on him. A decade later, Eren catches up.Jumps around a bit, time-wise.
Relationships: Jean Kirstein/Eren Yeager
Comments: 16
Kudos: 149





	change of heart

“Want a cookie, Eren? My mom made them.” It’s snack time for Ms. Fisher’s first grade class.

“Is it chocolate chip?”

“Yeah,” says Jean shyly.

“Your mom’s chocolate chip cookies are the best!” says Eren. He eagerly grabs the cookie Jean is holding out, then looks at Jean’s empty hand. “But what about you? Don’t you want it?”

“I’m not hungry,” lies Jean.

Eren looks at him doubtfully, then comes to a decision.

“Here,” he says, putting the cookie down and carefully breaking it into two pieces that are roughly equal in size. It’s a soft, gooey cookie, and bends easily in his stubby fingers. “We’ll share.”

Jean beams at him. His mom’s cookies really are the best. He’s glad he asked her to make them.

\----------

“Jean! What are you doing in here? School’s over,” whispers Marco, popping his head into the school library on his way from the field to the bathroom.

“Hi Marco! Eren and I are going to work on our science project.” It’s a big part of the fourth-grade curriculum, and Jean wants to do well on it.

Marco can’t help his eyes flicking to the play structure, where Eren is currently jumping off the top of the slide. 

Jean, following his gaze, looks out the window.

“Oh,” he says blankly. “I guess he forgot.”

“Yeah,” says Marco, a strange feeling rising in his chest. He settles into the seat opposite Jean’s. “What’s your project on?”

Jean happily launches into a description while Marco studies the outline, asking questions every now and then.

\------------

“Levi, you wanna give it a try?” Eren asks eagerly, glancing at the other boy. It’s Saturday afternoon, and they are all playing video games before they head to the fifth-grade soccer game.

“Nah, I’m kinda in the middle of something,” mutters Levi. He and Erwin are huddled together over their phones in the corner, deep in muted conversation.

“I’ll try!” Jean pipes up. 

Eren doesn’t answer.

Jean moves closer, because he thinks that Eren simply hasn’t heard him. His voice doesn’t lose its cheerful, eager tone. “ _I_ can play with you.”

Marco and Armin exchange glances. Marco wonders when Armin hopped aboard this train, but he’s grateful he did. It helps to have someone else who also winces at Jean’s utter sincerity. There’s no self-consciousness there. He honestly wants to give it a try, share in whatever Eren is doing. Not for the last time, Marco wonders how Jean, sharp in so many ways, can be so soft and blind about this one thing.

“ _I_ want to try it, Eren,” Jean says yet again, still brightly, as though he’s offering Eren a gift. Which he is. Eren is just too thick-headed to see it.

As Marco is thinking these black thoughts at Eren’s oblivious, shaggy head, Eren says, “S’okay, I’m good.” Which isn’t really an answer, although of course it is.

Almost immediately, Armin jumps in. “Hey, Jean. Can you come help me out here? The zombies are all over me, and I need backup. Right away.”

“Sure, Armin,” says Jean, only the smallest trace of disappointment in his voice as he wriggles over towards Armin.

This same scenario is repeated, over and over again – in the classroom, on the soccer field, in a thousand different iterations: Jean, cheerful, eager and wanting; Eren, indifferent; and Marco and Armin, wise and kind beyond their years, cringing.

Until the end of 6th grade. The last week of school. They’re back at Marco’s, this time battling raging giants with an unquenchable appetite for human flesh. It’s the new thing, fighting these titans, and all the sixth-grade boys are intensely into the game.

Eren sits up, huffing in excitement. “It’s an abnormal!” he cries. “I’m going to get it! I’m going to slash its neck. Gunther, come see! Quick!”

Gunther doesn’t even look over.

Jean, however, jumps up immediately, his eyes trained on Eren’s screen.

“That’s so cool!” he agrees admiringly.

“Yeah,” says Eren. “See, Gunther? It’s cool. You wanna try? On my computer?” He’s almost begging.

Gunther only grunts.

“I’ll try,” says Jean.

Eren doesn’t answer, keeps playing.

Jean looks up. He’s sitting too close for Eren not to have heard him. Instead of merely repeating himself as he usually does, he cocks his head at Eren, puzzled. And because his eyes are raised, this time he sees the look pass between Armin and Marco. And right after that look is exchanged, he hears Marco say, without even looking at Jean,

“Hey Jean, I’m stuck on the seventh level. There are five titans near me. Can you knock any of them off?”

Jean is older now, and he’s learned a lot this year, about himself and other people. He suddenly knows what that look meant, and he understands what Marco is doing. His eyes immediately drop. Anyone looking at him might think he’s staring at his screen, but he’s not. His hands aren’t moving either. His avatar is quickly devoured, crunched to bloody bits in those giant teeth. In the time it takes him to lose that life and respawn, all the color has drained out of his face, then filled back up again, a brilliant, flaming red.

He sits, unmoving, a whole other minute _. I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry_ , a mantra, singing through his head, his eyes blinking furiously.

Marco glances up, sees Jean’s face, then immediately looks down at his own screen. _Oh no!_

After the minute passes, Jean regains the power of movement. He quietly packs his computer into his backpack. Marco doesn’t say anything, keeps his head down. He knows the situation is unsalvageable. While all the other boys slice away at titans, Jean picks his way through the seated bodies, pads down the stairs and out the door.

Everyone else emerges from titan steam an hour later. 

“Where’s Jean?” asks Eren. This is when Jean typically hovers over him, asking about his game, his current stats, what his best plays were, how he defeated the latest group of abnormals. Eren likes reliving his most recent kills in front of an appreciative audience. But Jean’s not here. Eren looks around, puzzled. This has never happened before.

“He left,” Marco answers shortly.

“Huh,” says Eren, saving his game. He’ll tell Jean about it tomorrow.

The next day, they play kickball after lunch. It’s one of the last games they’re going to play as 6th graders. Next year they’ll be in seventh grade, and they’ll each be assigned to one of the three hubs of the large, sprawling junior high on the other side of town.

As usual, Eren is one of the captains, Reiner the other.

Except this time Reiner picks Jean. Second. Right after he picks Bertholdt.

Eren is stunned. That’s not how it works. Eren _always_ picks Jean. Third. After Armin and Mikasa. Jean is an ace kicker, after all, and an important member of their team. And Reiner always picks Bertholdt, Annie, and Connie. Then there’s usually a squabble over who has to take Daz and Floch, who aren’t very good.

Eren scowls as Jean saunters over to Reiner’s side. Jean doesn’t even look very upset. The opposite, in fact. He high-fives Reiner and says, “Thanks for picking me, man, like I asked.”

_What?_ But Eren doesn’t have time to think about this inexplicable turn of events and the sinking feeling accompanying it. The game is about to start, and he has _both_ Daz and Floch on his team. Which doesn’t help his mood.

Jean kicks third. Bertholdt is on second base, and Annie is on first. A solid kick here will definitely score them some points. Jean deliberately aims for the weak spot in the other team’s lineup (how quickly it has become “the other team”), where Armin is at second base. He imagines that the ball is Eren’s fat head, and he kicks as hard and high as he can. It’s a solid kick. It flies past Armin, heading out into left field, into Daz’s territory.

When Jean is about halfway between third base and home, he sees that Daz is still fumbling with the ball. Only an earthquake can stop Jean from scoring at this point. He glances over at Eren, red as a tomato, yelling at Daz to _throw the ball_ _already_. Jean slows to a walk, lazily crossing home plate just as the ball makes its way back to an apoplectic Eren.

Too late, Eren hurls the ball home, clipping an unwary Jean in the side. 

“ _Ow!_ What the heck was that for?” yelps Jean.

“Stop _gloating_!” shrieks an incensed Eren.

“You can’t hit me with the ball just because I’m better than you!” Jean shouts back.

With a roar of rage, Eren runs at him. Soon they are at the center of a knot of 6th graders, rolling around and around in the grass for two minutes straight before they are yanked apart, still punching and kicking, by Mr. Pyxis.

It’s the first of many fights. 

\-----------

“Who’s all over my ass?” asks Eren, manifestly frustrated. “That’s the fourth time I’ve been killed in the last half hour.” It’s the fall of eighth grade, and they are back at Marco’s house for a Friday night sleepover.

A chorus of “Not me, man,” “Can’t be one of us,” “I dunno,” greets his words.

Ten minutes later, Eren is mad as hell. “Who is _Lightning Thoroughbred_?”

This time, Jean lets out a guilty snigger. Eren puts down his computer, rises, and stomps over to him.

“Why are you killing me?”

“Why are you leaving yourself so vulnerable to getting killed?” asks Jean calmly, looking up.

“Get out of my game!”

“If you can’t stop me, you deserve to die,” is Jean’s only response.

“Get out of this house!” says Eren, feet pressing against Jean’s knees. “Now!”

“This is _Marco’s_ house!” says Jean, standing up. “ _You_ can’t tell me to leave!” He knows Marco would never kick him out. Ever.

Eren puts his hands on Jean.

“Don’t push me!” Jean says softly.

“I’m not pushing you,” Eren answers defensively.

“Those are your hands, pushing me!” says Jean, his voice still dangerously low.

“I wasn’t pushing you. Yet.”

“Can’t keep your hands off me, can you?” says Jean, trying a different tactic. It works. Eren’s hands spring back from his chest.

“Shut up!” he yells.

“Make me,” jeers Jean.

Eren leans back in and shoves Jean, hard. Jean, surprised by this blatant attack on neutral territory, stumbles to the ground. He leaps up immediately, lunging at Eren.

They pummel each other amid cries of “No!” “Get away from my computer,” “You meatheads!” and “Not _again_!”.

Marco and Reiner pull them apart. Jean’s lip is bleeding. Eren will be sporting a sizeable shiner for school pictures the following Tuesday. They are both escorted out of the house, fuming. Apparently, Marco _will_ kick Jean out, given a strong enough reason.

\-------------

Eren watches fascinated. They look like actors, or at least models. Both tall, well built, bottle-blonde hair, grungy t-shirts and jeans. Their pinkies are linked as they saunter down the street. He’s staring so hard he almost walks into a lamppost. 

He and Connie pick up their burritos, then walk to the park. It’s one of their last days of freedom before 12th grade starts, and it’s a gorgeous day – blue sky, a light breeze, warm but not overbearingly hot. As they near the park, Eren sees the two guys again, now relaxing in the grass. The taller one has his back against a tree. The other has his head in the first guy’s lap. Again, Eren can’t tear his eyes away. It’s a scene straight out of the glossy pages of a celebrity gossip magazine.

He’s about to poke Connie and ask him if he knows anything about these guys, when Connie says, “Hey! There’s Jean.”

He leans forward and waves, calling out, “Jean. Jean!”

Eren looks around, confused. The guy who is lying down half rises, propped up on an elbow. He waves at Connie.

Eren stops in his tracks. “That’s _Jean?”_ he asks in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Connie gives him a look. “Of course it is.”

Eren blinks, dumbstruck.

“Wh-when did he get so… _tall?_ ” he manages to splutter out.

“I dunno.” Connie shrugs. “Awhile now, I guess. Last year, maybe? Have you guys had any electives together?”

“Nah,” says Eren. His tongue feels thick in his mouth. Since Eren has been at the Alternative school, a smaller community set off from the main high school, he only has occasional classes in the main buildings. He doesn’t see much of the old gang, except Armin and Mikasa of course, unless he makes an extra effort. And he most definitely has not made any effort to see Jean.

“The hair’s new, though. He must have done it at that training camp he went to,” adds Connie.

As Eren looks more carefully, he can tell - yeah, that’s the same straight nose, the same long, thin face. It suits Jean now; his body has grown into his face. The blonde hair is definitely new, though, the golden highlights much brighter than his old brown bowl cut used to be. The haircut suits him, too, emphasizing the long, lean lines of his face. Eren has to admit it: Jean is absolutely 100 percent gorgeous.

Connie doesn’t seem to notice that the world has fallen away beneath Eren’s feet.

“Hey, Jean. Hey, Thomas.”

Jean smiles easily at Connie. The other guy, with his back to the tree, looks up at them curiously, his eyes lingering on Eren. 

“Connie,” Jean says warmly. There is a short gap before he nods briskly and adds, “Jaeger.”

Eren nods back, dumbly.

“When’d you get back?” Connie is saying.

“A few days ago. Hey, guess what? Thomas won the 500 meter sprint at regionals!” Jean is talking to Connie only, not even looking at Eren. “It was so cool! It’s the first time one of the racing canoes has won in ages.” Jean looks at Thomas like he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread. 

There is something teasingly familiar about that look. When he realizes what it is, Eren’s stomach freezes. It’s the look that Jean used to give _Eren_ – when he was offering him a cookie; when they did science projects together; when Eren would pick him for the kickball team. Eren understands that look in a way he didn’t before. It’s a look of utter and absolute adoration. Eren can’t stop himself from glaring at Thomas. While on an intellectual level he knows it’s ridiculous – he and Jean have barely spoken in years – Eren feels that Thomas has usurped Jean’s worshipful gaze from its rightful spot – pointed at Eren. He is so focused on these thoughts, it takes him a moment to realize that they are still talking about canoe racing.

“Jean!” Thomas swats at him, but feebly. Eren can tell it’s all show. Thomas wants to talk about how well he’s done. Thomas is an egotistical bastard. 

As if to prove Eren right, Thomas adds, boasting, “Before this summer, we hadn’t won the 500 meters in over ten years. I have a good shot at nationals, too.”

“Dude, didn’t _you_ also do well?” Connie asks Jean. “Your mom said you placed in the 1,000 meter kayak singles. And isn’t this only your second year doing flatwater kayaking?”

Jean blushes and mumbles something inaudible. He obviously doesn’t want the attention.

“Yeah, I seem to inspire greatness in our team members,” says Thomas, not so subtly shifting the conversation back to himself. Definitely an egotistical bastard.

Jean doesn’t seem to mind. He keeps smiling that hero-worshipping smile at Thomas, plainly happy for Thomas to bask in the attention Jean clearly feels he deserves. Eren finds himself slightly nauseated at the sight. _This_ is the guy Jean is into? Then he can’t help but wonder if _he_ ever acted like that, all those years ago, using Jean as a foil to make himself look better. He fervently hopes not.

He’s saved from this uncomfortable line of thought by Connie asking, “Are you guys coming to Sasha’s party? To kick off the start of our last year of bondage? Everyone will be there.”

“For sure,” says Thomas.

“But I thought you said – “ Jean starts to say.

Thomas interrupts him dismissively, “Nah. I can make it.” He adds, his eyes flicking up to Eren, “Looks like it’s gonna be a blast.”

Eren isn’t sure until the last minute that he’s going to go to the party. He hasn’t been to one of Sasha’s parties in ages. In the end, he decides he will go; it’s about time he put in an appearance, after all. Before everyone forgets he even exists. He tells himself that it has nothing whatsoever to do with wanting to see Jean’s lean, elegant, form again.

Jean is already there when he arrives. Even lounging on the couch, Jean is sexy as hell, his hair glowing in the dim light, the muscles in his forearm shifting slightly as he lifts his drink to his mouth.

Eren finds it remarkably easy to casually make his way over and plop down into the empty seat next to Jean. Not a big deal. Aside from his heart jumping all over his chest, which he hopes doesn’t show.

“So, uh, kayaking,” he says, awkwardly. He’s never had to make conversation with Jean before. Either Jean did all the work, chatting, listening, looking up at him with those adoring eyes, or they were yelling at each other as a prelude to fighting.

Jean’s not doing the work now. “Yeah,” he says stiffly. His eyes are scanning the entryway, waiting. 

Eren prods himself to keep talking – he’s not going to let something as familiar as Jean’s surly demeanor stop him. “Where… uh… was your training camp?”

This gets Jean’s attention.

“How’d you know I was at training camp?”

Eren blushes. “Connie said,” he mumbles.

Jean looks at him, for a minute, then answers the first question.

“On the lake.” Of course, on the lake. Stupid question, Eren. Nonetheless, he pushes forward dumbly, the only other thing he can think to ask.

“What’s kayaking like?”

Eren is expecting a “What’s it to you, asshole?” but Jean surprises him.

“It’s fantastic. “ His voice is eager, enthusiastic. Without the sarcasm or the scowl, he looks much younger, more like a golden version of the middle schooler Eren remembers. “Like nothing else I’ve ever done. The water, and the balance, and the speed.” His eyes flicker over to Eren and he immediately becomes self-conscious, the eager expression smoothing off his face. “It’s fun,” he finishes coolly.

“Sounds like it,” says Eren, and he means it. Jean must be able to tell because he quirks his eyebrow, then voluntarily picks up the conversational ball.

“You’re at the A-school?” Eren wonders briefly how Jean knows ( _Was he asking about me?_ ), but forces himself to focus on keeping the ball in play.

“Yeah. My mom thought it would be a good idea. To help with my, uh, temper. And when I went to check it out, I liked the people.”

Jean smiles, but it’s not malicious. “I was seriously considering it. But I really wanted to take the lit classes with Rothman. How’s it been?”

“It was the right decision. I think I might have gotten a bit lost in the mainstream high school. And I really like that the evaluations are mostly narrative. Not so grade-focused, yeah?”

“Mmm,” says Jean. “I get that. You still playing soccer?”

“I was, until I busted my knee. Lost my spot on the varsity team.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah. Definitely a bummer.”

They’ve fallen into a surprisingly fluid rhythm. It feels comfortable. Mellow. Almost… friendly.

“Do you still play that titan game?” is Jean’s next question.

“Of course!” says Eren, surprised Jean would even ask. “That game rocks. I mean, who wouldn’t want a chance to use ODM gear?”

“True enough,” agrees Jean.

“Are you still _Lightning Thoroughbred_?”

Jean blushes. “Well, ah – “

“I knew it!”

“Come on, dude, I couldn’t give up a name like that!”

When Eren doesn’t stop laughing, he says, “Are _you_ still _Attack Titan underscore two thousand four hundred sixty-eight_?”

“Point taken,” says Eren. Jean grins, and Eren’s heart starts thumping again at the sight.

And then Jean’s eyes flicker to the door and his whole face lights up.

“Nice talking to you Eren,” he says, with surprising sincerity, and jumps off the couch. One moment he’s there, conversing pleasantly with Eren, the next he’s weaving his way through the growing mass of bodies.

Eren watches as Jean makes his way swiftly over to Thomas. It’s like staring at a car wreck; he can’t tear his eyes away. Thomas immediately bends down and wraps his arms around Jean, kissing him. On the mouth! It’s a deep kiss, with plenty of tongue. It’s obviously a practiced move, and Jean’s arms slide easily over Thomas’s shoulders, his hands gripping Thomas’s neck. Eren’s mouth goes dry at the way they melt into each other. 

Eren finds himself wondering if they’ve gone all the way. That’s how he thinks of it in his mind, too: “all the way.” He feels hopelessly young and naïve. He realizes that, even though they haven’t been friends in years, he has maintained a comfortable illusion in his mind of always being ahead of Jean, Jean happily trailing along behind him. That’s obviously not the case here. Eren has only had two real kisses in his entire life, both fumbling, awkward experiences that, while exciting in terms of the novelty, were admittedly disappointing in terms of the reality. Nothing like the smoothly executed, passionate embrace occurring before his eyes. Jean is plainly light years ahead of Eren in this regard, and it leaves Eren feeling confused and lost. 

“Jean’s really grown up, eh?” says Marco, in an uncomfortable echo of Eren’s thoughts. Eren jumps. Too late, he realizes he’s been staring, his jaw hanging open. He snaps it shut.

“Hmm,” he grunts.

“He used to have quite a crush on you,” Marco adds bluntly.

With an unpleasant jolt, Eren realizes that even though he didn’t put a name to it when he was younger, he nonetheless understood on some level that that adoring look represented a crush. He understood, and he enjoyed it. It made him feel superior, secure. Whatever else was going on, Jean would always be looking at him with that same smitten expression.

Until one day he wasn’t. That time period is a confused jumble in Eren’s mind; he doesn’t remember exactly what happened, what jump started all the anger and bitterness.

“Let them be, okay, Eren? He adores Thomas. They’re happy together. Don’t take Thomas away from him.”

It’s spoken kindly, but it’s a definite warning. Eren is so annoyed with the idea of Marco, _Marco_ of all people, warning him off, that it takes him a minute to process the meaning. Marco thinks Eren is into _Thomas._ That Eren wants to steal Thomas away from Jean. 

“What-“ he starts to say.

Marco only sighs, putting his hand on Eren’s shoulder. He squeezes, not lightly – another warning – and walks away.

When Eren looks back, Jean and Thomas are still making out. Something’s changed, though. Jean is pulling at Thomas’s shirt as though he’s trying to move Thomas into a corner, or outside, somewhere private. Thomas, however, has the upper hand, holding Jean captive under the lights, in full view. Eren squints. It almost looks like there’s something performative about the kiss, at least on Thomas’s part. This impression is borne out when Thomas’s eyes open and he looks over Jean’s head, directly at Eren, and winks. _Shit_. Is Thomas _hitting_ on Eren? While he’s kissing Jean? It sure looks that way. Eren turns away from this disturbing image, anger swirling in his belly. How _dare_ Thomas kiss Jean and simultaneously flirt with someone else?

He stumbles to his feet, intent on escaping from the sight, only to find Marco glaring at him. _What?_ Eren can’t take the injustice of it. Glaring at _him?_ At _Eren?_ _Thomas_ is the villain here, not Eren.

Eren leaves soon after, wishing he had never gone to the stupid party in the first place.

\-------------------

It’s the last day before winter break. Eren has just dropped off his print assignment at the main high school, and is galloping down the stairs, towards freedom. He wonders idly if he’ll run into Jean. It’s always at the back of his mind whenever he’s in the main high school for this elective, whether or not he’ll get to see Jean. Which he does from time to time. Unfortunately, almost always with Thomas: Jean draped over Thomas’s shoulder; Thomas’s arm slung across Jean’s waist; Thomas kissing a blushing Jean’s neck; Thomas’s hands clasping Jean’s. At these chance meetings, Thomas almost always gives Eren a leering grin. The thought makes Eren quiver with anger and he tries to shake Jean and Thomas from his mind. The semester is over, after all. He should be thinking positive thoughts.

He’s on the last flight, taking the stairs two at a time, when he hears an odd sound. A sniff.

He stops in his tracks. He recognizes that sniff. He jumps the last four steps to the first floor and walks around underneath the stairwell. Sitting with his back against the wall, his knees to his chest, is Jean. Alone.

“Jean?” he asks, surprise in his voice.

Jean’s head snaps up. He scowls ferociously at Eren.

Eren is about to scowl back when he sees that Jean’s eyes are red and puffy.

He steps forward. “Are you okay?”

Jean doesn’t answer. Eren realizes that it’s because his chin is wobbling.

“Do you want some water?” he asks. He has several bottles he had collected from his locker earlier that day.

Jean looks up at him blankly. His chin is still quivering.

Eren swings his backpack around and fishes out a bottle, hands it over. Drinking something always helps him when he’s trying not to cry. Jean takes it automatically, fumbles with the top. He finally gets it open and guzzles down the water.

“Thanks,” Jean says, when he’s done. Eren is happy to hear that his voice is firm. Not in the least wobbly.

“You want to be alone?” Eren asks, surprised at his own tact. “Or do you want company in this luxurious under-stairwell apartment of yours?”

Jean shrugs. “Company’s fine. I guess.”

Eren settles down across from him.

They sit in silence. Something is telling Eren to ride it out, and he’s amazed he can do it. Jean eventually cracks.

“I really loved him!” he bursts out.

Ah. Eren suspected as much. He tells his heart to stop doing flip-flops in his chest, but it doesn’t seem to be listening to him _. Now’s your chance_ , it’s saying. _Make a move._

“You mean Thomas?” he asks.

“Yeah. He just,” sniff, “broke up with me.”

Eren arranges his face into an expression he hopes is suitably somber and does not reflect the wild joy blooming inside his chest.

“He said he loved me.”

_That asshole_ , thinks Eren. He tries to think of an appropriate response. _Then why was he hitting on me?_ probably isn’t the best way to go.

“He didn’t deserve you!” is what he ends up with.

Jean gives Eren a strange look.

“What?” asks Eren.

“I’m a little surprised, that’s all,” says Jean.

“Why?” asks Eren.

“I’d have thought you of all people would think I deserved the worst.”

“Hmm,” says Eren. It’s a fair point. “Maybe I don’t think that way anymore.”

“What the hell does that mean?” asks Jean.

“Maybe I no longer revel in other people’s misery. And by other people, I mean you, shithead.” He leans over and flicks Jean gently on the forehead. “As I recall, you’re a pretty cool person. If Thomas can’t appreciate you, it’s his loss.” Eren is not surprised to see the startled look on Jean’s face. He’s startled himself. Astonished, really. He doesn’t know where the hell that came from. But it sounded good, and, more importantly, he actually meant it.

“Thanks,” says Jean. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.” He gives Eren a small smile.

The unexpected smile, coupled with his ridiculous excitement that Jean and Thomas aren’t together anymore, his amazement at his own powers of speech, and their relative privacy, causes Eren to do something wholly unexpected: he leans in and kisses Jean. It’s an awkward, clumsy kiss, nothing like the smooth kiss that Thomas gave Jean at Sasha’s party. Their noses bump, and their lips smash. Jean grips Eren’s shoulder, shifting him into a better position. _So that’s how it works_ , thinks Eren, because immediately their faces fit together properly, and the kiss is so much better. Jean leans into Eren, matching Eren’s pressure, and Eren feels the lick of Jean’s tongue across his upper lip. He gasps.

At the sound, Jean abruptly pulls back, his eyes wide.

“ _What the hell?_ ”

Eren blushes but the kiss has given him courage, and the words tumble out before he can stop them. He doesn’t really want to stop them, truth be told. Everything is screaming at him to grab hold of Jean right now, while he can.

“I like you,” he says breathlessly.

Jean, however, doesn’t respond quite as he had hoped.

“Christ, Eren,” he grumbles. “I just got dumped. You can’t throw that shit at me on a whim.” 

“It’s not a whim!” Eren says hotly. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for – for a while. And if that dickface can kiss you, why can’t I?”

Jean snorts. “Because _I_ wanted to kiss _him_ too, you nitwit.”

“Oh,” says Eren. But the courage is still inexplicably with him, nudging him to ask, “You don’t want to kiss me?” He is fairly confident from Jean’s body language that he does, indeed, want to kiss Eren.

“That’s not the point,” says Jean.

 _It isn’t?_ wonders Eren, but Jean is closing his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck, so he doesn’t say it out loud.

Jean finally says, “Can’t you give me a break? Seriously, I’ve been broken up for about five minutes. I need some time to think.”

Eren can’t. Doesn’t Jean see how important this is? It feels urgent to Eren, he has to make Jean understand how he feels. Why Jean belongs with Eren, not with someone like stupid egotistical asshole Thomas.

“He didn’t deserve you,” is all he can think to say, more savagely than the first time.

“Now _that_ is my cue to exit,” says Jean, zipping up his backpack. “Thanks for the water and the company. Except for the last bit. Have a nice break.”

“I mean it.” Eren can’t seem to stop himself. He wants, desperately, to hold on to Jean, to keep him there, however he can. “He’s a sleazebag. He was hitting on me from the first time I saw you two.”

“ _What_?!”

That seems to have gotten Jean’s attention. Eren hadn’t meant to bring it up, but if it keeps Jean here, maybe that’s a good thing?

“Every time I saw him, he would wink at me, or look me over,” explains Eren.

Jean is staring at him.

“Is that why he broke up with me? Because of _you?_ Were you _flirting_ with him?”

“No! It wasn’t like that at all!” Eren cries out defensively. This is not the direction he wants the conversation to go in. He’s got to make Jean understand. “He’s an asshole, Jean.”

But Jean isn’t listening anymore. He’s shaking his head, rising to his feet. Eren scrambles up beside him.

“Un – fucking – believable, Eren. I swear, you’re like a cancer. How can you _still_ manage to ruin _everything_ that’s important to me?” His face is bitter.

He pushes Eren away, hard. Eren stumbles, banging into the wall. It hurts. He feels the old anger rise up in him. Out of habit, almost, he draws his fist back. But then he stops himself. Is that really what he wants to do? Punch Jean? For the first time in a long while he doesn’t think so. All he really wants is for Jean to _stay_. To go back to five minutes ago, when Jean was smiling, before Eren opened his big stupid mouth.

“Stay _away_ from me!” growls Jean, stomping away. As he passes, Eren sees that his chin is wobbling again, and there are tears in his eyes. _Shit._

\----------------------------------

Eren is at the hardware store, picking up a light bulb. He’s staring at the shelves, trying to figure out the right one to get (why are there so many different kinds? LED? CFU? cool white? All he wants is a freaking light bulb for his desk lamp!) when someone bumps into him.

“Sorry,” the voice says automatically.

Eren turns slowly.

It’s Jean, staring at him in horrified silence.

Eren scowls. Jean’s words rise up in his mind: _I swear, you’re like a cancer._ He’s surprised they still hurt so much. It’s been months, after all. But maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. Jean has always had an uncanny ability to hit Eren where it hurts.

“E – Eren,” stammers Jean.

Eren gives him his blackest glare, spins on his heel and leaves. He can get the damn light bulb later.

\-----------------------------------

The ceremony, like all high school graduation ceremonies from time immemorial, is too long, too hot, and too full of stupid, meaningless platitudes. Eren sits stoically as one speech after another peters off into silence, using all his powers of concentration to _not_ look three seats over to where Jean is sitting.

When it is finally, blessedly _over_ , when the caps are thrown into the air, when he can stand up and peel his sweaty thighs up off the metal chair, he turns to look for Armin, for Mikasa, for the others. He has been trying so hard to _not_ see Jean, it takes a moment for it to register when Jean plants himself directly in front of Eren.

“I’m, uh, sorry about what I said. Um. Before winter break. You weren’t the, uh, only one Thomas, um, went after,” Jean stutters out awkwardly. It’s obviously a prepared speech, and just as obviously, Jean still feels the sting of humiliation. His face is a blotchy red. Suddenly Eren doesn’t need to hear it; he doesn’t _want_ to hear it.

“No problem,” he says. “It’s too bad he was such a jerk.” He’s proud of how calm and even he sounds. How _mature_. He’s a high school graduate, after all. He can do this.

Jean looks relieved. He opens his mouth, shuts it, opens it again. He says, in a rush,

“Take care, Eren, okay? You – you’ve meant a lot to me. Over the years. I wish you well.” He holds out his hand.

Eren stares at the hand for a moment, flummoxed. Is Jean pulling a stunt? But he cautiously puts out his own hand, and they shake. Jean’s hand is warm and smooth; his grip is strong.

“Maybe I’ll see you at Sasha’s later, yeah?”

Eren can only stare at Jean in surprise. Jean blushes again, thrusts something awkwardly into Eren’s open palm and closes Eren’s fingers gently around it. He turns away quickly, not waiting for an answer. 

Eren looks down at his hand. It’s now holding a small cloth, folded over. He carefully unwraps it. It takes him a moment to recognize the soft, crumbling shape.

It’s a cookie, or half of one, to be precise. A Mrs. Kirstein chocolate chip special. Cut right down the middle. Eren looks up. But Jean is gone, lost in the sea of black gowns. 

Eren walks into Sasha’s basement, his heart pounding; he is a ball of nerves. It’s taken him the better part of the night to make it here, and he wasn’t sure he would actually do it until he stepped through the door. He scans the room. His eyes are halfway around when they find what they are looking for, tucked into a corner.

Jean is looking right at him. He was clearly waiting. There is a smile on his face, too. Not the adoring, worshipful smile of elementary school. Not the sarcastic, malicious smirk of their later years. A real smile. Sweet. Hopeful. _Hopeful?_

All the air whooshes out of Eren’s lungs. Before he can think about it, before he can lose his nerve, he puts his head down and barrels over to Jean.

Jean is still smiling. Up close, Eren can see that it’s the goofiest smile he’s ever seen in his life. Eren would laugh, if he didn’t think that a very similar smile was spreading over his own face. 

At this, Jean’s smile widens further. He holds his hands out, palms up, a few inches out from his waist. It’s a small gesture; it could mean anything. But Eren knows he’s not imagining things. It was a real handshake earlier, and it was a real cookie. It’s a real smile now, and Eren is running with it. He throws himself into Jean’s arms, wrapping his own around Jean’s waist. He’s used too much force; he hears Jean’s “oomph” at the impact. But Jean can take it. He braces himself momentarily against the wall, then his arms surround Eren, and he is hugging Eren just as fiercely as Eren is hugging him.

Eren buries his head in Jean’s shoulder. It feels perfect, holding Jean, being held by him. Like something that was askew for a long, long time is now, finally, _right._ He swallows against the sob catching in his throat and squeezes his eyes against the treacherous tears filling them.

“You came,” breathes Jean into his ear.

Eren loosens his grip, pulls back so he can look up at Jean. Jean isn’t smiling anymore. He looks astonished, amazed, blown away. Rather like Eren feels.

Eren stretches up on his toes to kiss this stunned Jean. It’s a much softer kiss than last time, a quick brush of lips.

“Sorry it took me so long,” he murmurs against Jean’s mouth. He hopes Jean understands that he’s not talking about the party.

“I'm glad we're both here now,” answers Jean, before gently taking Eren’s chin and tilting his head slightly to the side. And then neither one of them has breath to spare for words. 


End file.
